rich girl got the bad boy love
by sarsaparillia
Summary: Lipstick, lies, tears, tragedy (tragedy). — Lydia, Erica, Peter; AU.


**disclaimer**: disclaimed.  
**dedication**: to MaCall. happy Christmas, baby.  
**notes**: canon what is that also fuck werewolf jesus goodbye

**title**: rich girl got the bad boy love  
**summary**: Lipstick, lies, tears, tragedy (_tragedy_). — Lydia, Erica, Peter; AU.

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Lydia Martin didn't come back from her two days in the woods the same.

And Erica Reyes could tell.

She hadn't taken the Bite, then; hadn't known anything about werewolves or witches or the things that went _bump_ in the night. Then, all she'd been was an overweight girl who had seizures and shit herself on the cafeteria floor. She'd been ugly and furious and horrible on the inside, pining for someone who was pining for a girl who had no interest in him.

The irony of it never ceased to amuse her.

Which is sort of how they became friends, in the end. Peter Hale gave Erica the creeps like no one else, and even after the Bite she could see the seed of madness planted in his brain in a way that no one else, except for Lydia.

(Stiles, too, but Erica didn't want Stiles anymore. It must have been a human thing, wanting a boy who was out of everyone's league except his own. She had bigger and better things to hunger for, now.)

Erica didn't like Lydia and Lydia didn't like Erica, but they both hated Peter more.

"He used me," said Lydia. "I lost everything."

"He creeps me out," agreed Erica. "Let's kill him."

They sat in plush leather chairs at the local coffee shop after school, sipping too-expensive lattes that Lydia had paid for with a wave of a golden card that that Erica had only seen on the internet and in her dreams. Derek probably had one, too, but who the hell knew where that guy got his money. Seriously, did he rob banks or something. Erica was so suspicious of this.

Lydia stared at her with sharp, considering eyes, though what she was looking for, Erica couldn't tell. Whatever it was she was looking for, though, she must have found it, because she nodded severely.

"So," Lydia said. "Where do we start?"

"Your best friend is a hunter. I think we should use that," Erica said idly, resting her chin against her hands.

"Allison is…" Lydia trailed off, eyes hard. "There's something not right with her right now. Her parents—"

"I didn't say we use her. I said that we should use the _fact_ that she's a hunter," Erica shook her hair out, long curls spiraling down her back in a cascade of gold that caught the sunlight as she moved. The leather of her jacket sat uncomfortably warm against her skin, but it was a good armour in that it contrasted Lydia's demur mint sweater dress. They were two sides of the same coin, light and dark, but both equally dangerous.

Erica thought it was rather fitting.

"I want him to _suffer_, Reyes," Lydia said viciously, violently. "I want him to feel _pain_. I want him to _regret_ what he did. I want—"

"I know exactly what you want," Erica smiled with all her teeth, fangs dropping for a very quick second and eyes glowing gold. "Ever heard of mountain ash?"

—

It was a simple trap.

(Which is probably why it worked. If there was anything Lydia knew, it was that Peter thought ten thousand steps ahead of everyone else, but he'd likely not see something so simple as a threat.)

Lydia smiled at Peter in a way she hadn't since before her little adventure in the woods, and Erica dug the hole at the base of a stump of a tree so deep in the preserve that no one would ever think to look there.

She invited him to have tea.

And he went, because he was a man, and he was _hungry_.

All men were so _hungry_, and in their hunger they forgot that those they wanted to eat were poisonous dangerous things.

It turned out mountain ash tea worked better than arsenic, on werewolves. And so easy to hide in chai, which Erica said blocked out every other smell. She smiled and pretended to sip at her tea—Peter waited until she'd drunk to drink his own, and oh, the way his eyes bulged when he'd finished his cup was the loveliest thing Lydia had seen in a long time.

Lydia Martin watched with pursed lips as Peter choked on his own body's negative reaction to the ingestion of the mountain. It tried to reject it, but Lydia wasn't a stupid girl, and Erica was suddenly there, strong hands around Peter's neck.

"Hello, Peter," Erica grinned down at him. "Inject him?"

"My pleasure," Lydia said.

The needle was long and thin and very sharp. It hadn't taken much to convince Scott that they needed it, though he'd been wary of Lydia's politeness and Erica's long teeth. He'd handed it over because they said they needed it for an experiment, and because Allison had stood at his side and held his hand.

Sometimes, Lydia was very glad that Allison trusted her.

It slid into Peter's skin like a knife through butter, and Lydia pushed in the mountain ash solution straight into his heart.

He convulsed and convulsed on the floor, and the girls watched in sick fascination as his throat closed up and he stopped breathing.

Erica sneered down at him. "That's pathetic."

"Do you want to do the honours, or will I?" Lydia asked.

"You don't want to get blood under your nails, princess," Erica said. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "So me, obviously."

"He's turning purple. That's disgusting," Lydia said, lips pulling up.

"Mountain ash," Erica reached down, wrapped her hand around Peter's wrist. "You might want to look away. We don't have long, we gotta get him out of here, like, _now_."

"No," Lydia said, calm. She grabbed Peter's other wrist. "I want to see."

Erica shrugged, and together they dragged him from Lydia's living room and out into the backyard. They were lucky it was late—the neighbours in this part of town lived for gossip, and if they happened to look out their windows, they'd see a blonde probable-convict and the Martin girl dragging what looked like a dead body across the lawn.

In the forest, away from civilization, Erica Reyes ripped Peter Hale's throat out, and Lydia Martin only felt a distinct sense of relief. There was blood everywhere. Neither girl cared very much.

"Your Alpha isn't going to be happy."

"Derek's never happy, so I don't really care," Erica said.

"Your gloss is smudged," Lydia said, and pulled a slick cylinder of lipstick out of her cleavage. "Here."

"Thanks," Erica said with a grin, and took the tube with fingers that did not shake.

—

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_fin_.


End file.
